


the carpenter and the soldier

by madamerenard



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Fluff without Plot, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 17:51:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16602731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madamerenard/pseuds/madamerenard
Summary: Beatin is a mad Elezen with a saw on his hip, but even madder is a certain Wood Wailer Captain's fervent desire to return to his arms.





	the carpenter and the soldier

It isn’t until the wee hours of the morning that Gairhard and his squadron return from their latest treacherous mission. His recruits are exhausted, eager to go back to the barracks and rest, and he cannot fault them. His bones are just as weary, eyelids just as heavy.

Still, he does not turn towards the Wailer’s Barracks. His smarting feet carry him past the aetheryte and to the left, stopping right in front of the large double doors. The placard with a symbol of a saw hangs above his head.

So long has he awaited this moment. For weeks his thoughts were consumed of this, of the day where he would finally return to the woodshop and to its white-haired Elezen occupant. But it’s late, far too late for him to be awake. Their reunion must be postponed, though it tortures him so. Beatin’s rest takes precedence over Gairhard’s desires.

And then he looks down, and sees light flooding in through the crack between door and floor. Beatin is not resting, and Gairhard is suddenly torn between giving the Elezen a joyful, happy reunion and chewing him out for not taking care of himself. But he’s too tired to think of a plan of attack. He just wants to see Beatin. And so he pushes open the doors and makes his way inside.

Beatin is at his workbench, illuminated by candlelight. He handles the saw in his hand with the mark of a true artist, the wood easily giving way beneath his fingertips. Though Gairhard does not see much of him working as Beatin stops when he enters. The Elezen does not turn, but instead remains still, pointed ears pricked.

“Timbermaster Beatin,” Gairhard greets. He is unable to say anything more than that, however, as Beatin neatly cuts him off.

“We are alone.”

Gairhard smiles, lowering his head. Beatin wants a better hello than that, and so he shall get one. The Hyur could rarely refuse him. “Then may I ask how it is that you get more beautiful with the passage of time, my love?”

Beatin likes that greeting much more, and the captain is rewarded with a smile as slender as the carpenter’s exposed neck. Gairhard cannot help his wandering gaze drift down milky skin and to his partly exposed chest. His mouth, an enemy to him now, begins to water and his lips start to twitch with the kisses he wants to place there. He blames it on exhaustion, the long period of time which they were separated, and of course, Beatin wearing such low-cut cloth in the first place.

When he finally rouses himself back to reality, Beatin is eyeing him. His pretty eyes do not wander as Gairhard’s had, fixing themselves fully at the Hyur’s face, but they hold mirth and mischief. Gairhard is suddenly aware that Beatin thinks him _naughty._ “It has been moons,” he tries to defend himself. “And your damned allure is not helping.”

Beatin smirks, a hand rising to tap his forehead. The Elezen approaches him slowly, calmly, and with every step Gairhard feels his heart beat faster. Finally, as he’s towering over the Hyur captain, he places a hand on the captain’s cheek and strokes his skin with a thumb. “You look too exhausted to even undress,” comes the blunt reply.

Yes, like most things about Beatin, it’s as direct and hard as wood. But Gairhard can’t say that he is wrong. As much as the Hyur prides himself on his stamina, Beatin would scarcely finish kissing him before he fell asleep in the guildmaster’s down bed. It’s quite disappointing for the both of them, but that particular reunion must be postponed. “And what of you? Why are you fiddling with wood in the middle of the night?”

It’s Beatin’s turn to look bashful, though he hides his eyes behind his glasses. “Yes, well, you know, it is rather dull to sit here twiddling my thumbs and praying to the Twelve that you return safe—”

“Beatin, we talked about this. Many times.” Gairhard understands that it’s hard to be a soldier’s lover. That Beatin often feels powerless to truly help him aside of furnishing him with weaponry. And Beatin—Beatin especially—worries himself into fits with an overactive imagination. Would that Gairhard could always be at his side to comfort him, but as he has told Beatin over and over, he fights with purpose. And though he has as much love for Gridania in his heart as his fellow soldiers, there is yet a more important reason to protect the peace of the Twelveswood, and it is standing right in front of him. He fights tirelessly so that Beatin can live. That he may remain in the safety of his city-state, crafting what he desires. Gairhard would risk his life every day if it meant Beatin would live a long and happy one.

“Yes. We have. And I understand, you have a duty...”

“To you, Beatin. Not to Gridania.”

“But just what do you think will happen when you so nobly sacrifice yourself so that I may remain here? Do you truly think I will be able to move on? I cannot, I will not live without you. So many times I have had horrible visions of that future...”

“Hey.” Gairhard takes a deep breath, puts his gloved hands on Beatin’s arms to steady him. Beatin could seem overdramatic to the commonfolk, but Gairhard knows that he feels those emotions as strong as the blaze of the sun. “I do not plan on dying any time soon. I think of nothing but us living a long, joyful life together. Do you doubt my skills, carpenter?”

“No,” Beatin is quick to answer. “No, I know it is irrational, ridiculous...and yet...”

“And yet your mind works against you, plaguing you with every fear and nightmare hidden deep within you.” Gairhard is inching his face ever closer to Beatin’s, tilting it almost in preparation. Beatin, though still a bit shaken up from his dark fantasies, notices the Hyur getting closer and closer, his eyes half-lidded and lips licked, and smirks. He supposes he can indulge Gairhard’s desires, if only a little bit.

He bends his back, closes his eyes, and their lips meet. It’s soft, gentle at first. Just a sweet kiss to reaffirm the love the two share. But as it goes on, Gairhard’s more baser desires make an appearance. The Hyur starts to use his tongue, mouth growing hot and wet as his slid it against Beatin’s.

And really, Beatin is not exactly unfazed by this. Though Gairhard’s kiss is a sweet treasure to him, the hands finding this narrow waist and rubbing circles into the flesh awaken lust. Still, he stands by the fact that Gairhard needs rest---and himself, for that matter. He pulls his lips from the captain’s, pressing them instead against the cool flesh of his sculpted chin to calm himself. Gairhard gives a soft whine, fingers desperately clasping whatever flesh it can.

“Gairhard, my love, you are as needy as a youngling,” Beatin hums into his skin.

“Tis not just lust,” Gairhard rasps. “It’s just you. Just you. I can’t get enough...” His fingers fumble their way up Beatin’s back and bury themselves in silver hair. “So many nights I have thought of you...every waking moment imagining myself returning once more to your warm embrace. That is, should your fury be calm...”

“Tis solely worry that drives me to fits of foolish rage. You know this.”

Gairhard’s fingers stroke through snow white locks. “I do, you damned Elezen. Gods, you drive me mad.”

Beatin smiles. “Not mad enough to refuse my bed, surely?”

The Hyur gives a small groan, shifting his hips. Beatin’s pants are just as tight, but...

“For sleeping, Gairhard.”

“Of course, of course. Tonight, we sleep. But come tomorrow morning, you will not escape me.” The captain grips the carpenter’s chin, and Beatin shivers violently with both the touch and the promise. He has no doubt, however, that as soon as their heads meet the pillow, they will succumb to slumber.

Especially in the other’s warm embrace.


End file.
